


Echo

by orphan_account



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: M/M, Thoughts of Suicide, Zombie AU, also joel doesn't show up until chapter 3 whoops, joel's only mentioned at the end poor lad, not really character death but zombies are dead soooooo, ray is a smol zombie bab protect him, zombie!ray
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 14:08:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4524942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The apocalypse isn't fun, especially if you manage to get bitten so soon after it starts like a dumbass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bitten

**Author's Note:**

> Based off [this](http://fullunadulteratedart.tumblr.com/tagged/fullzombieau) au by fullunadulteratedart on tumblr. I'm probably not going to continue it (at least as a linear story) but who knows. Certainly not me.

Nights were silent these days. 

It wasn't the kind of silence he was used to, the silence where there was still something out there, something moving, a machine working and humming. Usually there were thumps from his neighbors or voices that drifted through the thin walls of his apartment, small signs of life that he usually ignored. Sometimes he'd even let his phone play music if he had trouble going to sleep. There was always some kind of noise, something to listen to, or something to focus on. 

The particularly uneventful nights were something completely different, something almost completely empty.

Since the virus took hold there was eerie silence. There was no distant hum of technology simply because there wasn't anyone there to use it. There wasn't anyone in the office building a few blocks away grumbling about staying way too late simply because if they dared venture out they'd likely be turned by one of the shambling corpses shuffling across the street. Then their life would be over and they'd lose their mind to the virus. _Well,_ Ray mused, _at least they wouldn't have to drag themselves to work every day._

Or maybe they would. Ray snickered a little at the thought of a zombie operating a computer in a cubicle. Not only was it ridiculous but it was also highly improbable. 

He sighed afterwards, the sound echoing around the large space he'd holed up in, sending the small sounds he made back at him. He wasn't completely sure what this place was used for. If he had to guess he'd say it was a convention center or something, but at the same time it didn't seem that big. It was just concrete and metal walls that only absorbed the cold and bounced the sound around. But it was empty of zombies so that was where he'd decided to stay for the night. 

Too bad he was having such a hard time getting to sleep. 

He shuffled around in his tattered sleeping bag, rubbing his hands together to try to generate some extra warmth. He shivered a bit, but he didn't really want to get up. He was tired, so that wasn’t the problem, but there was something besides the crushing silence keeping him up tonight. It was some kind of thrumming excitement in his chest. No... excitement wasn't the right word for it. It was more like anticipation. More like fear. 

Something was going to happen tonight, he was sure of it. The echo that sounded through the empty building – the echo from a noise he didn’t make, one he’d heard too many times already - only cemented that feeling in his mind. 

He was up in an instant, grabbing for his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder. With shaky fingers he pulled his pistol out - the only gun he'd managed to find so far, unfortunately - and flipped the safety off. The groan came again and he bolted towards the exit, hoping he remembered where it was. He could hear footsteps behind him, more like shuffling, and moaning. He could have sworn he felt something wrap cold, dead hands around his arm and with a shout he whirled around and shot at nothing. His heart was pounding and he was incredibly jumpy. 

And he had just altered any zombie in the vicinity that there was a free meal, just waiting for them. 

He shivered violently at the thought and only ran faster towards the exit. He fell against the handle, pushing it out with more force them was absolutely necessary and stumbled into the night. 

It wasn't quite as dark as he'd thought it would be, but it was still dark enough. He crept along the brick wall, keeping an eye out for anything sneaking up behind him. With every step the feeling of dread from earlier only got worse. He nearly screamed when he _did_ feel something grab his arm, something dig it's dirty, cracked nails into his skin. 

All reason seemed to leave his mind when he felt the teeth sink into his shoulder and  _tear._

Too shocked for his vocal chords to work he just kicked and shoved as hard as he could, spinning around and unloading the rest of his bullets into the head of the zombie behind him. By the time the sound stopped echoing through the still night his cheeks were already wet with tears and his hands were slick with blood from trying to stop the wound from bleeding anymore. He knew it was useless. The damage was already done. 

He felt tears well up again, this time with a vengeance, and his shaking hand covered his mouth as sobs wracked his body. He sunk to the ground, too shocked to really do anything besides press a hand to the wound on his shoulder a bit harder and pray it would stop hurting soon. Or maybe he hoped it wouldn't. Because if he could still feel it that meant he was still alive. It meant he hadn’t turned yet.

His eyes found the crumpled form of the zombie again and he squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't look at it. It was once a person. It was alive once. It had a family, a life, maybe a job too. They were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. They didn't deserve what they'd gotten. They didn't deserve to meet their end at the hands of some disgusting rotting corpse. They didn't deserve to have bullets put through their skull and die a second time, this time without knowing who they used to be, without anyone to comfort them or cry for them. 

He wasn't sure if he was talking about the dead body in front of him or himself. Maybe both. He had no idea. 

He just sat there, sobbing and shaking and feeling all around useless and stupid, for too long. How could he let this happen? How could he let himself get bitten? There was no excuse. Maybe he deserved it. Maybe he should just shoot himself and get it over with. He found he couldn't gather the energy to move his arms and the gun was empty, anyways. It was no use. Maybe some survivor would find him early and put a bullet in his head instead. He would end up the same way: another dead body rotting on the streets, waiting for survivors to loot or skirt around. He was going to end up as another pile of bones with no name and no past. Maybe the worst part was that, in the end, there would be no one to remember him.

Eventually his eyelids slipped closed from fatigue, the adrenalin fading, and he drifted into something vaguely like sleep. 

He woke up with a pounding in his head and stiff arms and legs. He pushed himself up slowly, his arms shaking horribly. _This wasn't right,_ he managed to think beyond the pounding. _I should have turned by now._ His hand flew up to his shoulder and he twisted as well as he could, hoping that maybe, possibly, it had all been a bad dream. 

A jolt of panic shot through him when he saw the green tint around the bite. His sore muscles clenched up and he could only stumble to his feet in a panic and bolt away from the still dead body that was way too near where he was. Honestly, he was surprised no zombies had come to eat him while he was asleep. He hadn't turned yet - he still counted as fresh meat. 

His backpack was almost slipping off of his shoulder and his legs felt like slabs of wood. He wouldn't be able to run forever. 

He swore loudly when he felt his foot catch on something, sending him tumbling down into the ground. He felt his elbow scrape across the concrete and his head bang on the ground, the glass that made up his glasses cracking horribly. He groaned loudly as the pounding only intensified. He squinted at the scrape on his arm, surprised and slightly worried that the only blood seeping out of it was sluggish and way too dark to be healthy. 

He looked back to see what he had tripped on, jolting backwards when he saw the zombie with no legs that was just staring at him open mouthed. Ray scrambled back as fast as he could, panicked that he would die before his time was up as a human. He still had a few more hours maybe. He didn't want to spend them getting eaten. 

The zombie only stared and didn't follow. 

Ray still ran, though. As fast as he could. 

He found a shop with its window still intact, its door still on its hinges. It looked untouched by other survivors and zombies. He figured it was as good a place as any to spend his last hours. 

He crept inside, not sure if it was empty. It looked like a convenience store, its wares still on the shelves, relatively untouched but for a few overturned shelves and cracked glass from the freezers in the back. He froze when he found his reflection in a mirror hung on the wall. 

He looked like death, clothes bunched up and wrinkled, splattered with blood that he was positive was his own. The bite on his shoulder had a sickly green tint and it was painfully obvious that it had come from a zombie. His eyes startled him the most, a dead, faded white where they had once been a deep brown. 

He saw his eyes widen behind the cracked and dirty lenses of his glasses. His fingers found his neck and he waited. A second. Two seconds. Three. 

A faint pulse, almost not there.

He was already dead. 

But... he still remembered who he was. He didn't really feel all that different, besides the incessant pounding in his head. But he was dead. He was a zombie. 

How the hell did _that_ make sense?

Why was he the exception? Why did some punk from New York deserve to be spared from this terrible virus? Why him and not someone else? What did he ever do? 

He stopped his own train of thought before it overwhelmed him. He instead settled on one thought. 

What am I going to do now?

He tore his eyes from the mirror, instead surveying the store he had found himself in. It was stocked with enough stuff to help him get through this. There were hoodies and t-shirts hung up on the wall, bottled water still left relatively untouched on the shelves. Ray grabbed a package of ace bandages and a few bottles of water. 

He quickly took his bloodstained shirt off and threw it in a corner. He carefully poured water over his bite, cleaning away the blood and grime. Afterwards he patted it dry with another shirt and carefully wrapped it up. He cleaned as much of himself as he could manage, wiping the dried blood off his face. After a brief moment of consideration he left his glasses alone. If he met another survivor the grime and cracks would hide his eyes. He wasn't in the mood to be shot in the head.  He smiled and nodded at his reflection. He didn’t look too bad anymore. Maybe a little paler than usual, but that was fine.

When it was all done he shoved extra bandages and water bottles into his backpack. He pulled a hoodie over his new shirt and made sure it hid as much of the skin on his shoulder as it could. He pulled the hood over his head and nodded again in satisfaction. If no one looked long enough he could pass as a survivor. It wasn't like anyone would question his pale skin or cold hands. What kind of zombie walked and talked and thought? Certainly none he knew about. 

He winced when the ever present pounding in his head seemed to escalate and he let out a loud moan. It was quick to recede, though, and he shrugged it off, heading out of the store. It was time to leave this place. He couldn't stand it anymore, not after all that had happened. It was impressive how well he was taking it, especially considering the fact that he was practically a walking corpse at this point. He supposed it came from his stubborn ability to ignore the elephant in the room until he just couldn’t deny it anymore.

He started walking as soon as he was out of the store, not really paying attention to where he was going. It wasn't like it would matter, anyways. He'd keep his distance from everyone else. He'd survived this long alone.

He managed to keep that promise until the day he met Joel. 


	2. The Hunters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well apparently I have no self control because not only did I write this chapter but I'm a fair ways into another one too. I don't know if I'll continue it after that but I said that last time so who knows. I make no promises either way.

Nights weren't that silent anymore.

Ever since he'd been picked up by the group that liked to call themselves the Hunters nights had been full of voices and sounds. It had all been very sudden, but before he'd found them - or, more accurately, they'd found him - he had managed to survive alone for a long time. Or maybe it wasn't that long, he wasn't sure.

He hadn't really keeping track since it really didn't matter anymore. He was dead already, what would knowing the date change? How would knowing the number of days he'd been dead change anything? The answer was it wouldn't, so he didn't bother. 

He had walked for a long time in a direction, though which one he wasn't sure. The road signs that passed by him implied he was making his way towards the southern states. He figured that was as good as anything. He'd never been out if New York before. 

Through his walking he found out quite a bit about his... condition. He could still eat, which was good, because he wasn't sure he was quite ready to give up junk food just yet.  He still bled, but the wounds seemed to slowly knit themselves back together given enough time. His bite wound bled constantly, something that tipped the Hunters off to the fact that he wasn't entirely human anymore. He had a headache constantly, though sometimes it was worse than others.

Possibly the most worrying was the white fog that was quickly covering his memories. He took to writing things he remembered, though they were short and uncertain. There were a few names and even fewer details, but it made him feel better, knowing that there was something there if he ever needed a reminder.

He was alone for a long time before he reached the city. It looked like all the others, tall buildings, broken glass, overturned cars, things like that. Things he'd grown accustomed to. He had also grown accustomed to the shuffling and clanking of zombies that roamed every street corner and city. 

That was probably why he didn't react when he heard something fall near him. He had been petting a stray cat he had found on the street, though it was scared away by the sudden noise. Ray looked up, feeling a jolt through his chest when he realized it was a man, bloody and exhausted, laying on the ground. Ray shuffled back uncertainly. For all he knew this man was alone, no help coming. He hoped he hadn't been bitten, but there wasn't much he could do if he had been. When the man groaned weakly Ray finally moved. He looped his hands under the man's arms and half dragged half carried him into the nearest building. It looked a bit like a Game Stop. 

He propped the man against the wall and dug into his bag, looking for any bandages he could find. He couldn’t just let him die without at least trying to help. The man's eyes fluttered open slightly and he groaned again. "Ugh... Geoff?" Ray started at the voice. It was deep and rough, probably from the pain. He was obviously an older man, but Ray wasn't sure how well he could judge him, his face covered by a torn and stained bandana. 

"Uh... no," Ray said, and he realized dimly that it was the first time in a quite a while that he'd talked. "My, uh... my name's Ray." 

He'd managed to find some bandages so he went about cleaning the other man's wounds. There were some minor scrapes that were bleeding a healthy red color, indicating that he was still fully human. There were larger gashes on his left arm and leg, ones that looked suspiciously like knife wounds. He wrapped those up tightly after cleaning them as well as he could. 

"Ray?" the man mumbled. "Where are the others then?"

"There are others?” Ray asked, worried. If these others found him, even if he was taking care of one of their own, would they shoot him? Would they recognize him for what he was? He stumbled to his feet, scratching at the bandages that wrapped around his neck and shoulder. He would have to change them before he went anywhere, before the others showed up. 

"Yep. They're my friends. Don't know where they went, though,” the man mumbled. Ray bent down to pick up his backpack, shoving his first aid supplies back inside of it. He had to leave. 

Just then the sound of voices reached Ray's ears. He froze, feeling panic rise in his chest. He had to run, but he couldn't just leave the injured man on his own. What if the people outside would hurt him? What if they saw Ray running and shot him dead? What if- 

The door to the store opened before he could do anything and he froze like a deer caught in the headlights of a car when he came face to face with a man with curly hair and a freckled face. Ray gulped and stumbled back, feeling a gun press into his chest. He closed his eyes tightly, hoping the man hadn't noticed how unnaturally white they looked. 

He only opened them when he heard the gun lower and the man say, in a small voice, "Ray?" He opened his eyes, met with the same face as before. The curls were matted and dirty, as was his face, but there was something familiar about him. "It's me, Michael," the man prompted as Ray just stared at him, confused. Ray supposed that name sounded familiar, so he went with it. 

"I- what the hell are you doing here?" Ray tried, hoping it was the response Michael wanted.

The gun was put away and Ray finally relaxed. Well, marginally. "I could ask you the same question, Ray. I haven't seen you in... fuck, maybe a year?" Ray shrugged. He had no idea. 

"Do you know him?" Ray asked, pointing towards the man still on the floor. It looked like he'd finally passed out. Ray wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing. 

"Holy shit! Ryan!" Michael shouted before yelling out the door for help. Ray wondered how many others there were. He wondered if he should just run. Something stopped him, though. He knew Michael, he knew he did. He just had no idea how. Maybe it would be beneficial to him to stick around. Ray scratched at his bandages. Hopefully he'd be able to hide what he was for a while.

As three other men all entered the store the air was filled with a tremendous amount of noise, more than he was used to. He was used to silent nights and quiet days, not the constant noise of five friends talking to each other. The pounding in the back of his head seemed to intensify and his eyes wouldn't focus on anything. "Come on, we need to get Ryan back to camp. He needs to rest," a man who Ray assumed was the leader said and Michael nodded, picking up who he assumed was Ryan with the help of a lanky man with wild hair. 

Another man, this one bearded and large, turned to face Ray. He forced himself out of whatever stupor he had been dragged into and shrunk under the scrutiny and cast his eyes to the ground. He prayed the larger man wouldn't figure out what he was. "Thanks for helping Ryan," he said. "I don't know what that dumbass was thinking, going after that survivor like that. He means well but he's not the best at talking to people." Ray nodded mutely. "Hey... do you have anywhere to stay? You can come with us if you don't. It's the least we can do since you helped one of our own." 

For a brief moment Ray considered declining but before he knew it his mouth was saying, "T-that would be great, thanks," and that was that. 

The bearded man smiled. "Great! My name is Jack," he introduced, before guiding Ray out of the store and towards where he assumed that camp was. On the way Jack rattled off everyone else's names, explaining that Geoff was the boss and Ryan was some kind of scientist. Gavin and Michael were the troublemakers, but still good fighters. Jack was the one who made sure no one died and therefore had to leave to check on Ryan. 

Ray was left alone. The camp turned out to be a small settlement inside an office building, the windows and doors boarded up and locked, all except the one they entered through. There was a woman there, waiting for them. Her name was Lindsay, which wasn't hard to figure out, especially considering the fact that Michael had shouted her name across the room when they'd first got there. With nothing better to do Ray sat down stiffly in one of the chairs scattered randomly around the room and hugged his backpack to his chest. He didn’t get to sit there alone for very long.

"Hey!" a loud voice said, and Ray jumped. If Gavin noticed he didn't say anything, only continued on. "You're Ray, right? I'm Gavin." 

The man stuck out a hand and Ray only stared at it. "Yeah, I know. Jack told me."

Gavin frowned and drew his hand back. "Well you're a barrel of laughs, aren't you?" he muttered. He was about to leave, and Ray was glad for that, but his eyes strayed to Ray's shoulder. "Woah! Bloody hell, you should have Jack look at that," Gavin said, his hand getting a little too close to Ray's bite. Of course Gavin couldn't see that it was a bite, only that the bandages were stained red and it was obviously covering something severe. 

Ray jerked back, almost falling off the chair. "N-no!" he managed to strangle out, stumbling to his feet and away from the scrutinizing eyes of Gavin. "I-it's fine, it's nothing." 

Unfortunately for Ray his reaction had caught the attention of Geoff and Michael, the former of whom found it hard to trust someone he'd just met, even if Ray had Michael vouching for him. "Where'd you get it?" Geoff asked coldly. Ray didn't miss his hand going for a gun. 

"I- I was- it was-" Ray scrambled for a lie, but found he couldn't find one. Where had he gotten it? In a city, right? He wasn't sure, and it was getting harder to think through the pounding in his head. 

"Ray," Michael said slowly, motioning for Geoff to put his gun away. He didn't, but he did take a step back. "What happened? Did you get-" Michael cut himself off, but everyone knew what he was going to ask. Did you get bitten? Are you going to turn?

If Ray's heart still beat normally it would probably have been all he could hear, but as it was he could only wrap his arms around himself and tremble. He couldn't form words and he squeezed his eyes shut. This was it. This was where he died. His silence, he knew, was all the answer they'd need. 

"How long ago?" Michael asked. Ray could hear the shuffle of fabric and the clicks of guns. He didn't dare open his eyes, but he knew they'd want an answer. Too bad he didn't have one. He'd stopped counting, he didn't know how long it had been. He could only guess. 

"A month," Ray managed to force out, and he could practically feel the confusion emanating from the others. 

"A month?" Gavin asked loudly. "That's not possible, is it?" 

"He could be lying," Geoff said, though he didn't sound like he believed it. "Maybe he got bit a few hours ago." 

Ray heard someone walk toward him and stop in front of him. He felt a hand on his shoulder - the one without the bite - and he felt himself flinch horribly. "Ray," Michael said. "Look at me, asshole." He said it quietly, almost nicely, strangely enough. 

Ray forced himself to open his eyes and when he did he finally realized how wet they were. He heard Michael gasp quietly when he saw them. Ray had no idea how much his appearance had changed since he first turned, but he was almost certain his eyes hadn't miraculously regained their old color. They were probably still a dull white, one of the first hints to what he was. 

He saw everyone else in the room, most of them with hands on their guns and if not that they were looking at him with fear and confusion in their eyes. The thick silence was broken by Gavin asking, "What was it that Ryan said? About zombies that weren't really zombies?"

"The strange," a weak voice joined the conversation. It was the man Ray had helped, Ryan. He looked pale and tired as he leaned on the wall for support. Lindsay was next to him, trying to get him to lay down again. "I've only seen one before, but they could only mimic speech. You're the first one I've seen that has almost all of their mental facilities still functioning." 

"Uh... thanks?" Ray tried, not sure how to take what Ryan was saying. There was more of... whatever he was? Was that a good thing? Probably. All he knew for certain was it got the others to put their guns away. Ray allowed himself to relax marginally. He guessed he wasn't dying today. 

"No problem," Ryan replied. "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?" 


	3. Say Hello, Wave Goodbye

The next few weeks went by in something like a blur, and this time he bothered to count the days. 

On day one only Michael and Ryan didn't have a problem with him. It probably had something to do with the fact that he was a zombie, even if he wasn't feral, and his appearance certainly echoed that of runners. But Michael didn't seem to mind. Apparently they knew each other. That sounded right, so he went along with it. Ryan took to asking him questions about what he was, most of them his medical history which he, unfortunately, couldn't remember. 

"You don't remember?" Ryan had asked, scribbling something down in his grimy notebook. Honestly, why didn't he just get a new one? The one he was using was absolutely filthy. 

"No, I don't," Ray replied stiffly. 

"Anything else you don't remember?" Ryan asked, glancing up to look at Ray. 

"Uh... yeah, a lot of things. Like, most things before I was... bitten." Ryan nodded and wrote that down. He asked how Ray had gotten bitten. He found he couldn’t remember that, either.

On day two Ray was certain Ryan had told Michael he didn't remember a lot because Michael spent the day near him, talking about things they'd done in the past that Ray didn't really remember. It was nice, though, because even if he didn't remember them happening he could imagine them. It was nice, to be reminded of a world that wasn't fragmented and overrun by zombies. 

The third and fourth day the others started warming up to him. Gavin started cracking jokes and playing pranks, the former of which were mostly something about his condition. Geoff would smile slightly at him if they ever found themselves together and he made sure Ray knew everything that was going on. Jack made sure to include Ray in any conversations that he was close enough to engage in. Lindsay, after finding out about Ray's DS, offered to let him use her charger. Anyone in the camp that liked pokemon had participated in a last-minute tournament. Ray had won by a landslide, much to Michael's annoyance. 

The fifth day was the first time he left camp since getting there. They were going out on a supply run and apparently they trusted Ray enough to have him go out with Gavin and Michael. They had walked through the streets and raided nearby shops, packing their bags with supplies that they would need later. Everything went smoothly until they climbed out of the shattered window of an old clothing store. 

Ray heard something. A gunshot. "Did you guys hear that?" he asked hesitantly. 

"Hear what, Ray?" Gavin asked, his grip tightening on the strap of his backpack. "Did'ya hear zombies or something?" 

"No, I-" he stopped himself when he heard another gunshot. By the looks on everyone else's faces they heard it too. Ray felt his feet moving as he ran towards the sound. 

"Ray! God damn it!" Michael shouted. Ray didn't look behind him but he knew they'd follow. He turned the corner into an alley and almost tripped over a few bodies on the floor. Zombies. His eyes swung up to find more - maybe three, at most - and a dirty and bloody man, holding a gun unsteadily in front of him. Ray wasn't sure what he was doing but the next thing he knew there was old blood in his mouth and a zombie body on the ground. He spit it out quickly, panicking. What the hell was that? Why did he do that? 

His thoughts were cut off by a gun pointed at his chest. He vaguely registered the fact that the other zombies attacking the man were also dead. "What the hell are you?" the man asked, his legs shaking badly. The wound on his shoulder was bleeding heavily behind the bandages that the man had obviously wrapped around the wound in a hurry. 

Ray held up his hands and stuttered, trying to form a response. "I- I'm- I-"

"Ray!" Michael yelled, skidding to a stop behind Ray and leaned over his knees, panting heavily. "What the hell, dude. Fuckin' wait for the rest of us."

The survivor's gun was still pointed at Ray but now he didn't look so sure of himself. "I- what?"  
  
"I'm Michael," he introduced, still breathing heavily. "That fuck's Ray, the other one who's... not here right now," Michael glanced behind him, probably looking for Gavin. "Is Gavin. Who're you?"  
  
"I'm... Kdin. My name's Kdin."  
  
Michael raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? You're a survivor, I assume. Unless you're like Ray."  
  
"Like... Ray?" Kdin asked slowly, his gun finally lowering. "He... he looks like he's..."  
  
Michael shrugged. "He is. Apparently he got bitten like... how long ago, Ray?"  
  
"Uh... like a month? Or maybe a month and a half?" Ray mumbled, not really wanting to be included in the conversation. He was just fine letting Michael do all the talking.  
  
Kdin looked confused beyond belief, a common expression when Ray's condition was discussed. "But how's he not... y'know, feral?"  
  
"Dunno," Michael shrugged. "Ryan thinks it's an immunity or something. He calls people like Ray the Strange."  
  
The gun disappeared and Ray allowed himself to relax. Gavin skidded into the alleyway, shouting something about waiting for people and not running away without warning. They all agreed to take Kdin back to camp to have Jack look at his wounds.  
  
Kdin ended up staying with them for four days before he said he had to leave again. That was the last time Ray heard anything about him for a long time and he could only hope he survived. He seemed like a decent guy.  
  
Ray had been with them for three weeks when they decided it was time to move camp. The entire process took a surprisingly short amount of time. You only took what was yours and only what you could carry. They left quite a bit of random items behind, but Michael assured Ray that they weren't important, that they could replace them if they really needed to.

It was late in the day when they headed out, and Ray asked Michael where they were going. "I don't know," he shrugged. "We could be going anywhere. It doesn't really matter. We're trying to survive. Maybe find a settlement of survivors that has room if we're lucky and stay there. I doubt it though. Those fuckers are strict when it comes to letting people in."  
  
Ray just nodded. They walked for a while longer, the tall buildings starting to become noticeably scarce, before Ray worked up the courage to ask, "What happens if we find a settlement that'll take you in? Would... would they take me, too?"  
  
"They better," Michael growled, "Or they'll have to deal with me."  
  
Ray tried to smile at Michael, tried to feel good about what the other man said, but he found he couldn't. They couldn't give up safety just because of Ray. They couldn't just leave a settlement because one of their members wasn't quite human anymore. They shouldn't have to choose between him  
and safety.  
  
They walked for a long time, taking breaks when the sun set by holing up in abandoned gas stations or empty homes if they were lucky. It had been a long time since Ray had properly slept in a bed and it was a welcome feeling when they found a suburban neighborhood that was still mostly intact. The closets were full of broken hangers and empty boxes. The kitchen was stripped bare, the drawers and ice boxes thrown onto the floor. It was obvious the family left in a hurry and that the house had been raided already but there were still beds that were relatively undamaged so they spent the night there.  
  
Ray found he couldn't sleep so he had just laid there, staring at a broken picture frame on the ground. He wondered if the people that used to live here were still alive, if they'd found refuge or if they were still running for their lives. He wondered if at least one of them had ended up like him.  
  
At some point he must have drifted to sleep during the night because he was awoken by the sounds of someone moving around downstairs. He stiffly climbed out of bed, hoping it was just one of the other guys getting up to look if they missed something on their initial search for supplies. His footsteps woke Michael who had been wrapped in a pile of blankets on the floor, having insisted for whatever reason that Ray should get the bed.

He sent Ray a confused look and the other man could only shrug. The sound of cupboards opening and closing loudly was enough to get Michael on the same page. In an instant he was up, his gun tight in his hand. “I’m going to get the others, you see who’s down there,” he half whispered, half mimed. Ray nodded.

He tiptoed quietly towards the stairs, pressing his back into the wall as he walked down them. He went slowly, listening closely. There was definitely more than one and they certainly didn’t sound like zombies. That meant they were probably survivors. That meant Ray would have to be careful not to let them see him. He pulled his hoodie farther up to hide his bite.

He almost cursed aloud when the second to last step groaned under him and the small murmurings he’d heard before were cut short. He heard footsteps and before he could make it more than a few more steps he felt rough hands grab his arms and he yelped, trying to pull away.

“Hey, hey, dude, calm down,” someone said, and Ray felt the grip on his arm released. He stumbled up a few more steps, turning around enough to get a good look at the strangers. There were three of them, all men, clearly survivors. The one that had grabbed him looked a bit younger than the others though bags were clear under his dark eyes.

Ray wasn’t sure what he should do, if he should run or try to talk to them or what, but thankfully he was saved from making a decision when Geoff’s voice reached his ears from the top of the stairs. “What the _fuck_ is going on?”

The three strangers froze, seemingly uncertain of where they stood in this situation. “Uh…” one of them said, this one with blue eyes and lighter hair then the other two. “We’re looking for supplies?” He held up a large backpack supposedly full of random items they’d found while searching.

Geoff said nothing, just stared at them with narrowed eyes. Ray could see his hand twitching to his gun. Thankfully Jack put a hand on Geoff’s arm before he could do anything rash. “Ray, come up here,” Jack said lowly, and Ray was all too happy to comply. He pushed past the two gents and into an adjacent room with the door open. He found the rest of the Hunters there, some with guns out, others crouched and listening.

“Did you live around here?” one of the strangers asked, attempting to lighten the mood.

“No,” Geoff replied without emotion. “Did you?”

“No, we’re living at a settlement. If… if you guys wanted to come back with us I’m sure they’d let you in. It’s a few day’s walk from here, though, so there’s that.”

Geoff hummed. Jack smiled. “We’ve actually been looking for a settlement that’s not overcrowded already.” Jack stuck out a hand. “I’m Jack. He’s Geoff. If you want to stay here for the rest of the night you’re welcome to.”

“I’m Bruce, this is James and Adam. If you’d like, we can head out when the sun’s up back to the settlement. See if we can get you in.”

Jack nodded. “That would be great.”

Ray broke off from the group, his hands suddenly feeling clammy and his chest tight. They were going to go to a settlement. That was good, right? Well, maybe for the others but there would be no way they’d let Ray in. He was technically a zombie, even if Ryan had given him a fancy name and fancier explanations as to why he wasn’t _really_ a zombie. As far as Ray was concerned he was still the biggest obstacle in the way of the others reaching safety.

So he left.

It was near sunrise, when everyone was still asleep. He grabbed his backpack, wrote a quick note telling the others not to worry, he’d find his own way in the world. Maybe they’d meet again someday. He hoped so. Maybe if the world managed to piece itself back together, maybe if someday the zombies were gone or cured. Wishful thinking, he knew.

He walked alone for a while - he had no idea how long it was, probably close to four or five days, he had no idea – in relative silence before he heard a gunshot. His head snapped up and he listened for another one. Maybe it was a survivor?  
  
He was starting to wonder if he'd imagine the shot before another one rang out. He felt his feet start to move towards where the sound had come from. It was somewhere near an abandoned neighborhood, so he started running that way.  
  
He heard the shuffling of walkers when he reached a low chain link fence, broken in some places but still tall enough to force Ray to climb over it. He felt his foot snag on the broken wires and he could only force out a curse as he felt himself fall. His head impacted against the hard dirt and black spots danced in front of his eyes. He blinked and shook his head violently, forcing himself to focus. He tore his pant leg out of the wire's grasp, grimacing when he saw that it had torn a long groove down his leg. He figured it should have hurt but he could only feel a dull stinging.  
  
The next shot jarred him out of his mind and he climbed to his feet, catching sight of a few walkers through a gap between houses shuffling toward something. The situation seemed vaugley familiar but for the life of him he couldn't remember why. Ray tried to walk, only for his leg to burn in dull pain and his head to swim. He bit his tongue and limped toward where he assumed another survivor was. When he rounded the corner of the house he saw the survivor fighting a small group of walkers. He held a shotgun in unsteady hands, his hair sticking out at every angle and his dirty hoodie was caked with dirt and dried blood.

He looked like he was doing fine against the zombies but Ray noticed the runner sprinting towards him before the survivor did. Ray sucked in a deep breath before he forced his legs to move. He slammed his body into the runner and he felt his elbow hit against the ground with a loud _crack._ Ray hissed in pain, scrambling away from the runner that was trying to pick itself up, only for it to get shot in the head. It was still after that.

The pounding in Ray’s head got worse as the survivor shuffled over to him and offered a hand. “Hey, thanks for helping me, uh…”

“Ray,” he managed to force out, just barely staying upright.

“Ok, thanks, Ray. I’m Joel. You wouldn’t have happened to have seen anyone named Matt, Jeremy, or Adam have you? I'm kind of looking for them.”

Ray shrugged and tried to answer, tried to remember, but he was only met with a wall of white. He felt himself pitch forward only for shaking hands to catch him. He tried to stay awake but soon enough black overtook his vision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELP that's all I know that I'm writing for sure, but we'll have to see how it goes. I might come back to this at some point, but who knows. Hope you enjoyed the chapter either way.


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